Another Side of Me
by ilovepuppies125
Summary: He knew about her death, he had blamed himself for it, he had spoken at her funeral, he had seen her laid to rest. So why now, was his deceased student from 1984, Amber McClain, parading around under the stage name of Ember? Lancer recounts the weeks he had known Amber, leading up to her tragic death, and how he had gotten to see a different side of the pop idol. 3 part one-shot
1. Part 1

**Okay, I fully intended this to be a one-shot, I even had it written as one (it was a really long one-shot, but a one shot nonetheless). But then as I went to post it I realized that it was better divided up among several chapters. They will all be posted today, but it might take a while, because every time I upload a chapter before the previous chapter went through its loading process, the secondary chapters don't seem to be recognizable on mobile devices. Anyway, think of it as a really long one-shot that has kind of held my attention for the past couple days. Enjoy.**

… … … … … … … … … …

Another Side of Me

Her face, her voice, it was all so familiar to him.

And what she had called him: "grandpa." It was almost like…

'_No,' _he told himself, '_It couldn't be. She's dead.'_

The balding, middle-aged teacher paced in his empty classroom. It was after school, and, by now, he should have left to go home like all of his other colleagues. However, he had been behind on his grading and did not want to lug the large stack of essays home with him for the evening.

Unfortunately for Mr. Lancer, it seemed impossible for him to get anything done with the somehow unknown familiarity of the pop idol on his mind.

'_But then, how do I know her?_' he asked himself. Between all the stress of teaching and grading, and the fact that he was beginning to have memory lapses that only seemed to get worse as he aged, he could not place the teen singer who had just recently captivated the entire student body before disappearing off of the face of the earth.

'_Perhaps she was one of those B side artists that one of my students had shown me several years ago, who had finally made it big as a one-hit-wonder_,' Lancer considered before immediately dashing the idea. He had never paid much mind to his students' tastes in music, especially not to the point where he would have recognized one of the artists to this extent.

"I should go home," he said out loud, glancing out at the darkening sky, "Susan will start to get worried."

Robert Lancer and Susan had been married for twenty-five years as of the past July. The two had one twenty-year old daughter named Katherine.

When Katherine turned eighteen, she had opted to go overseas and serve in the Peace Corps. It was admirable that she had wanted to help others, but, despite their emails and the occasional Skype, her parents were disappointed that they did not get to see her very often. The last time Katherine had been home was during the first week of June; nearly five months ago. And they would not be seeing her again until the week after Christmas.

Mr. Lancer pulled into the driveway of his home. The house was nothing special, red brick lined in white around the chipping window and door frames, with a cracked cement path that was in desperate need of repair. He kept telling himself he would get to it eventually, but neither he nor Susan actually believed he would.

Immediately, he was hit by the scent of his wife's cooking when he stepped into the house.

The inside of their house was eclectic. Most of the furniture was from when they had first bought furniture together after they had gotten married in 1989. After that, furniture had only been purchased as needed, so there were several pieces from the nineties and 2000's mixed in around the house. On the mantle of the red-brick fireplace, dozens of pictures were arranged. But, other than their wedding photo, all of the other pictures were of Katherine from over the years.

"Hi, honey," Susan poked her head out of the kitchen, "You're home late, everything okay?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," he replied nonchalantly, "Just behind on my grading."

Susan smiled reassuringly at him before walking back into the kitchen. Lancer slumped with heavy-footed steps into the kitchen, the brute of the day's exhaustion finally hitting him like a freight train, and sat himself in one of the old, floral patterned, vinyl-covered, chairs.

"We're having beef stew," she said, ladling some of the thick brown liquid into two bowls in front of her husband and herself before sitting across from him. The old wooden chair creaked but held steady as it always had.

It didn't take much for Susan to realize that something was wrong with her husband, although she figured it might have just been the combination of stress and exhaustion from a long day at work. She clicked on the TV, hoping that the news would be a welcomed distraction to whatever troubled him.

He ate the stew in silence, occasionally glancing to the screen and occasionally glancing to her with a polite smile.

"So I talked with Katherine today," Susan decided to create some conversation.

"Oh yeah," he nodded without really listening to what she had said.

"Yeah, she says that she might not be able to make it here until the first week in January," Susan sighed. Her husband still wasn't listening. If he had been paying attention to what she had said, he would have been upset. He was already irritated that Katherine could not be with them on Christmas day.

The news station switched from the local weather to another news anchor standing on the downtown street.

"The albums sales of the star plummeted after her final performance and sudden disappearance. Although some loyal fans still cling to the popular single on their albums, many have opted to move the artist's work from their MP3 players to the trash. Now all there is to wonder is 'Where did Ember McClain go, and will she be coming back?' Some members of Amity Park are beginning to speculate that ghosts had something to do with her bizarre appearance and disappearance or perhaps that Ember was a ghost herself, however no investigation had been conducted to test these theories. From downtown Amity Park, with all the coverage on the streets, I'm Mark Winters…" Once again, the mention of the popstar had peaked Lancer's attention, and now, he felt, he was closer to determining her familiarity.

Ember's name, he decided, was also familiar, similar to a former student of his, but not exactly the same.

His interest in the news reel did not escape Susan's notice. Her husband was many things: kind, funny, smart, an online gamer (on occasion), but interested in pop-culture he was not.

"What is it, Robert?" she wondered.

Lancer, however, was still lost in his own thoughts.

Ember…Amber…Amber McClain.

Yes! Of course!

With the confirmation that she was a ghost, it made perfect sense! Amber McClain had died in 1984, he had known her, and he had been at her funeral. That's why he had been unable to connect the dots! The logical part of his brain did not connect the dead Amber McClain, with the ghost popstar, Ember McClain.

"Robert, honey, what is it?" his wife asked again.

He studied her for several seconds. He had never told her about this particular student, and he was debating whether or not to do so now. Her eyebrows scrunched in concern as she watched him with a frown.

"Did I ever tell you about my first year of teaching?" he asked her, already knowing what her answer would be.

"Not really, what does that have to do with that young girl?" she wondered.

"She had been one of my students," he said, the memories slowly trickling back to him.


	2. Part 2

**Okay, this entire chapter will be Lancer's flashback to 1984 which takes place over several weeks and will be, by far, the longest chapter of them all. Enjoy.**

… … … … … … … …

The year was 1984 and a twenty-two year old Robert Lancer had just started assistant-teaching at Casper High School.

Casper High had been much different back then, it was still the same building, but instead of being full to its seams with students as it is now, there were very few students who attended the school.

The halls were alive with chatter of Ghostbusters, The Karate Kid, Phil Collins, Bruce Springsteen, and Ronald Reagan, and, occasionally, about a haunted locker. Locker 724 was supposedly haunted by some kid who had committed suicide in the 1950's. But, at the time, Lancer had not believed in ghosts.

Every girls' hair was permed and they wore jackets that were far too big for them, while the boys all had their hair styled to mimic Patrick Swayze, with dark jeans, white t-shirts and converse sneakers. **[P.S. I was not born in the 80's so I'm doing the best I can with what Google can provide, if I'm way off the mark, don't criticize me too badly ****]**

Even though the pop-culture might have been much different than the current class of Casper High students, the dynamics of the high school hallways hadn't changed too much. The students still divided themselves into various castes based off of their underlying amounts of popularity including the nerds, Goth kids, burnouts, jocks, cheerleaders, band kids, punk kids, and preps.

Lancer had been new to Amity Park, coming from a city not too far away so he wasn't familiar with any of the students, but they certainly knew him.

As weird as it might seem to his current students, Lancer had actually been seen as attractive in 1984. Like the boys at the school, Lancer had his black hair (which was actually still on his head) Swayze-fied and he still had his goatee. Every day he would wear khaki pants and a button-down shirt (which the girls found so much more mature and classy than the boys in their jeans and sneakers). He was also much thinner and more muscular.

When he would walk through the halls girls would smile and immediately begin whispering to their nearby friends, all the while casting glances in his direction. He certainly enjoyed all the attention all the girls were giving him; they all liked him. All except one: Amber McClain.

Amber was a dark brown-haired, blue-eyed girl, who frequently wore dark make-up and even darker clothes.

Amber was a trouble maker to say the least.

She fell in with the punk clique, and was the kind of girl who could be caught skipping class and smoking in the bathroom or getting into fights with the cheerleaders in the halls. She had started her own band, for which, she was the lead singer, with several of her punk friends, but, as far as Lancer knew, they had failed to really create any real momentum.

At first, Lancer didn't really know much about the girl. Although he did know that she was frequently singled out. In any generation, girls can be cruel.

One instance, Lancer remembered, she had had an entire bucket of blue paint dumped on her, courtesy of the head cheerleader Kelly Kimble.

The school did nothing, that is, except for suspend Amber for punching Kelly in the face. Lancer remembered feeling that Amber wasn't entirely at fault and that she should not have been punished as severely as she was, but he learned quickly that the school didn't care too much about justice so long as the sports were funded, cheerleading included.

Amber came back after her suspension, but she soon fell behind in her school work because of her missed days and was forced to take summer school.

That's how she and Lancer met.

Her missed week of school had caused her to fall behind in English and fall her final exam, making her unable to graduate with her class, and qualifying her for remedial classes throughout the month of August.

He could still remember the first time she had walked into the classroom. Her dark hair had been pulled into a tight ponytail but a few strands still managed to fall into her face and cover her eyes. She walked in, listening to her Walkman on a high level of volume, and slamming the heavy, wooden door behind her.

"Let's get this over with, dipstick," she plopped down in the chair in front on him, removing her earphones and resting them around her neck, although she still did not turn down the volume.

"Can you turn that off, please," Lancer said, trying to remain composed.

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she turned off the Walkman.

"Cool it, grandpa. It's just music," she remarked. Lancer pursed his lips; it was not the first time he had been accused of being uptight.

"Well, I'm here to teach you and I can't do that with your music on," he replied.

She sighed dramatically, leaning back against the back of the seat.

"Alright, let's get this over with," she snapped her gum, the loud popping sound made Lancer cringe.

His patience with this girl was beginning to run thin and he hadn't even started the lesson yet.

"Fine, let's start with a thesis statement," he began, clenching his fists beneath the desk.

After a few minutes, it was clear that she wasn't paying attention to him at all.

"Listen. I know you don't want to be here, I don't want to be here either, but the fact is, we both need to be here. So either you start listening to me so we can get this over with, or we can be here all day. Your choice," he told her finally.

She glared at him, her teal-blue gaze locked on his green one. Until finally, she sighed and leaned over the paper, looking to him to continue the lesson.

'_That wasn't so bad,_' Lancer thought when the lesson was finally over and the two of them went their separate ways, _'Now if I can only make it through the next few weeks with her.'_

It was August 1st, he was required to teach her until the third week in September—right before the first progress report would be issued—when she would be issued the official test to see if she could earn the credit for the course.

It was going to be a long almost-two months.

… … … … … … … … …

So, every weekday, he would tutor Amber.

Four days into the tutoring, she was beginning to become annoyed.

"I'm so sick of this," she exclaimed shoving a stack of papers off of the desk, "Let's get out of here."

"What?" he asked suddenly surprised.

"Come on, it's Friday night, let's go and do something," she begged. He looked at the clock, it was only about four in the afternoon, but they had been there all day without any food, and he too was beginning to feel famished.

"Are you kidding? No, what would we even do? Wait what am I saying? That would be highly inappropriate," Lancer shook his head, much to the protest of his stomach.

"Oh come on, you're what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? I'm eighteen, how is that inappropriate. Plus, we'd just be getting something to eat, it's not like we'd be having sex or anything," Amber smirked causing Lancer to blush.

It was hard to argue with her logic.

"Would it help if we went somewhere outside of town?" Amber asked.

"Alright fine," he finally agreed.

"Great," she grinned mischievously, "I'm driving."

Her car was a black convertible that had more than its fair share of wear on it.

"Um…are you sure this thing's safe?" he questioned.

"Oh get that stick out of your ass, grandpa. Let's go," she grinned, revving up the engine of her car. It found it odd that she still called him grandpa, especially considering they had already established that he was only four years older than her.

'_I'm going to regret this,'_ Lancer thought to himself, before hesitantly getting into the car.

"Um…I don't have a seatbelt," Lancer pointed out as he groped for the seatbelt and realized that it was not there. Amber took a tight corner with a squeal of the tires.

"Are you serious?" she cast a sideways glance, "Dude, lighten up, they're not even required." She was right. In 1984, only one state had required cars to have seatbelts, and no state required you to use them.

Lancer gulped and gripped the handle attached to the ceiling, half-convinced that he would end up ripping it off by the time they got to the restaurant, which reminded him…

"Where exactly are we going?" he asked her.

"Don't worry, I know this great place," she replied, laying on her horn at some guy who pulled in front of her.

It took about twenty minutes for the roads to begin to look familiar to him. Lancer soon realized that they were in his hometown.

Amber turned off of the road onto a gravel path.

"Pizza and Shakes, I love this place," Lancer approved of her choice when they had stopped.

"You know this place?" she asked, slightly surprised.

"Are you kidding? This is my hometown. I spent most of my afternoons in this restaurant while I was in high school. Although I am curious how you know this place," Lancer said.

Amber shrugged, looking down. She almost seemed to be a little upset but Lancer didn't know for sure. He didn't know that she had been using this restaurant as an escape to get out of her house. He didn't know that she had found it by mistake; a runaway attempt, with her eyes so blurred with tears that she had to pull over into this very parking lot.

They sat at a booth in the back. Lancer ordered a large pepperoni and two chocolate shakes. He wasn't quite sure the proper protocol, but he decided just to pay for both of their meals, especially considering they had to split the pizza anyway. She never said anything, but he could have sworn the look on her face almost seemed grateful.

'_She probably doesn't have much money,'_ Lancer thought to himself. It wasn't exactly uncommon, most of the people in Amity Park weren't exactly well-off financially, himself included. But, he figured, that since she was able to spend every weekday in tutoring, that she probably didn't have a job, and, therefore, probably wouldn't have had much to pay for dinner anyway.

"So Lancer, I didn't know you grew up here," she made idle conversation to break the awkward silence, trying to soften down her thick milkshake so she could actually suck it up through her straw.

"We're outside of school, you can call me Robert," he told her.

"Okay, Rob, why did you move to Amity Park," she asked.

It figured that she would go changing his name after he had just told it to her, but he was surprised that she was having a conversation. It's like she was completely different outside of school.

Which, he supposed, he was too.

"I had to. There was nowhere for me to teach here," he told her.

"Why do you want to teach anyway? What fun is there in teaching troubled teenagers to write essays?" she wondered, sipping her milkshake.

"You're probably expecting me to say something like 'I want to impact the lives of children' or something like that, but, honestly, it's because my parents were teachers, so it was kind of all I knew," he explained. "That was an excellent bit of alliteration you used, by the way."

She rolled her eyes.

"So what about you, what do you want to do with your life?" he questioned.

"Oh you know, shake off the dust of Amity Park, go places, be famous. Make a name for myself," Amber smirked.

"You know how unlikely it is that you will get famous, right?" he asked her.

She glared at him, "Wow? Really? Thanks, it's not like that's all I've been told by my teachers and parents since I was five. Thank you for showing me the light, now I will have to decide on something practical, ooh, maybe accounting?" she remarked sarcastically.

"I'm sorry. That's not how I meant it," Lancer apologized, which she responded to with a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, I know that's not how you meant it, that's just the way it comes off. Another way for 'the man' to keep us down," she frowned looking at her black-painted finger nails.

"And, speaking of your parents; shouldn't you be going home now?" He just realized how long she had been away from home. Tutoring was supposed to end at four and they had spent almost two hours talking in the red-covered booth. He couldn't believe how irresponsibly he had let time get away from him like that, her parents were probably worried.

Amber was quiet, drumming her fingers on the table, "My parents don't care."

"Why not?" he wondered. When she glared angrily at him he responded, "Hey, don't look at me like that, I'm actually trying to help."

"Well I don't need your help!" she exclaimed, standing up and stalking out of the restaurant, making a scene and attracting the attention of the stoned pair of boys in the opposite corner and the nosy wait staff. He almost considered letting her leave, but then he remembered that she was his ride.

"Wait!" he called after her, standing up to leave, having already paid the bill. "Thank you," he told the wait staff before rushing out after her.

"Amber, wait!" he called again once he was outside.

"What do you want?!" she shouted.

"Well, first of all, you're my ride. But, honestly, I really do want to help. What's wrong?" he asked her with concern.

"You mean other than the fact that my mom is dead and dad is a drunken asshole? Nothing much, what about you?" she told him bitterly.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know," he responded.

"Of course you didn't know. Nobody does! That's the way I like it! Ugh! Dammit!" she cried, pounding her fist onto the hood of her car.

'_That had to have hurt,_' he thought, but, if it did, she gave no indication.

"Why didn't you ever tell anyone, they might have been able to help you?" he asked her gently.

"Oh yeah, like they did when I got paint dumped on me, or tripped, or teased. No one at the school gives a crap about me because I'm not one of those preppy bitches. But that doesn't matter because after I pass that test and get that damn diploma, I'm out of school and on my own in the world: no more of my dad, no more classes, no more cheerleaders. Just me and my music," she said, getting in the car.

He didn't know what to say, so they sat in silence for a while before he finally spoke again.

"If it makes you feel any better, I kind of know how you feel. Both of my parents died about six years ago," he told her.

He knew from experience that it didn't make you feel any better. Knowing someone else's pain doesn't make yours diminish any more, it just makes them easier to talk to.

However, it seemed that she didn't want to be doing any talking tonight.

Finally, they arrived at the school where she dropped him off.

"For what it's worth," he said as he opened the car door and stepped out, "I care."

… … … … … … … … …

On Monday, they seemed to have taken a step backwards.

Compared to how easily they had conversed at dinner on Friday, the fact that she wouldn't talk or look at him now, deeply unsettled Lancer.

"Okay, Amber. What happened? We were getting along fine the other day," he questioned.

"Yeah, that's before you pried into my personal business, dipstick," she told him.

"That's what this is about? All I was trying to do was help. And I still don't see why that gives you a reason to be rude to me," he retorted.

She said nothing, but he could read it in her face. She was acting out all of a sudden, because, by finding out that little bit of information about her, he had gotten to close. That made her naturally shut down.

Which meant, that until he could get her to either forget about it or trust him, they would be getting nowhere with these lessons.

So he sat back and waited.

She had her headphones on now, eyes closed, absorbed in the music. Her long hair hung in her face, and every few seconds she would sweep the flyaway hairs away with her hand. After a few minutes of studying her, he noticed something that was extremely out of place on her pale skin: an angry purple bruise that spread from her shoulder down the back of her arm.

Gently, being careful not to startle her, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist in order to get a better look.

"What the hell are you doing?" she exclaimed.

"I'm just looking. Who did this to you?" he wondered, because, without a doubt, this bruise was inflicted by another human, a much larger human than her. She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly. He could see now that her arm was covered in random, abnormally shaped, scars, none of which appeared to be self-inflicted. It was almost like someone had gone at her with several different weapons.

Amber didn't say a thing, she merely looked down.

"Your dad did this to you, didn't he?" he guessed. Again, she didn't answer, which was answer enough. He released his hold on her arm and she immediately pulled it in close to herself.

"This can't go on," he told her, "I can't let you continue to live like this."

"No, really, it's fine. I only have one more month," she said that like she was running a race and could finally see the finish line.

"At least let me call CPS or something," he implored.

"No, no, please, don't" she exclaimed, her face contorting in terror, "Please, it will only make him madder."

"Not if he's in jail," he pointed out.

"I said NO!" she shouted. After a few seconds she lowered her voice, "I tried it once. They didn't even do anything. And then he found out that I tried to turn him in and…" she shook her head, "Please, it just makes it worse."

"But like you said, you're almost out of the house, how could it be much worse?" he asked.

He was surprised that tears stood in her blue eyes. She quickly whisked them away before they could leave trails of mascara down her face.

"It would be worse for my sister. My half-sister. She doesn't live with us most of the time, but when she stays with us our dad still tries to abuse her," she admitted.

"_Tries_?" he questioned her choice of words.

She nodded, "I have never let him touch her."

It didn't take him long to figure out what she meant by that. She meant that she took the blows _in place of_ her sister so that her sister wouldn't have to suffer.

"How old is your sister?" he wondered.

"Nine," Amber told him, dabbing at another tear with the end of her sleeve.

"But what do you think will happen to her when you go off and get famous?" Lancer questioned, wondering if the teen girl had considered that.

"I planned to legally adopt her, and then take her with me, far away from here," Amber sighed, "And any money I make would go to her for college."

'_Wow,_' he thought, '_Maybe she thought this 'fame' thing out better than I had thought.'_

She looked at him.

"Please, please, please, don't tell anyone," she begged.

"Okay. I won't tell anyone," he agreed, "If, you ace your final."

Amber paled.

"But that's in less than a month!" she exclaimed, wondering how she was supposed to master a full year's worth of material in that amount of time.

"Then I guess we better get to studying," he smirked.

… … … … … … … … …

"I'm starving," she muttered a little while later, "You want to go out again."

"Are we going to Pizza and Shakes again?" he questioned with a slight smile.

"No, I'm thinking Chinese. How does the Hunan Palace sound?" she questioned.

"Great," he agreed, "But I'm driving this time."

Lancer drove a Chrysler, it wasn't brand new, but it was in much better shape than her car.

"I should have known you would drive this car," she remarked as they approached.

"What's wrong with my car?" he wondered, already anticipating her response.

"Oh nothing, it's just that my grandpa drives the same one," she snickered. Lancer rolled his eyes. Great, as if she needed another reason to refer to him as "grandpa."

"Just get in."

She fiddled with his radio stations on the way to the restaurant.

"What is this?" she asked regarding the radio talk show he currently had playing through the speakers.

He didn't answer; he merely clicked on his blinker as her changed lanes.

"Let's get some real music on in here," she turned the dial to another station turning on _Smoke on the Water _by Deep Purple, "Yes! I love this song," she grinned, leaning against the back of her seat, "It was the first one I learned to play on guitar."

"You play guitar?" he questioned. He had not known that, he only thought that she was the singer, he supposed if there was more to her than just her singing voice, that she may actually be able to fulfill her dream of becoming famous.

"Um hmm," she answered, eyes closed as she listened to the music, probably thinking about when she had learned to play the song.

"Who taught you how to play?" he wondered, having always wanted to know how to play the guitar.

"I did," she told him, he was astounded, "Been playing since I was ten." Now if she could put that kind of dedication into her school work, she would have no problem acing her final.

"Would you be willing to teach me?" he asked suddenly before he had even noticed that he had asked her.

She gave him a strange sideways look, like she was trying to make sure he was being serious.

"You know, I teach you, you teach me," he added.

"I guess so," she shrugged, "We can start tomorrow."

He pulled into the parking lot. This was another restaurant that was just outside of town, and at eight o'clock at night, it was very unlikely that anyone would be seeing them.

"So what's your sister's name?" he asked her as they waited for their food: Hunan chicken for him and egg drop soup and an eggroll for her.

"Pamela," she replied.

"Does she look like you?" Lancer questioned, trying to get a mental picture of the young girl her sister had fought so hard to protect.

"Not really, maybe a little. We have the same eyes, but that's about it. She looks a lot like her mom," Amber explained.

"Do you guys get along?" he inquired. Having grown up as an only child it always intrigued him to hear people talk about their siblings and their relationships with their siblings; it allowed him to wonder what his siblings might have been like if he had them.

"You would think," she chuckled, "But we're actually about as completely polar opposite as sister's can be, personality wise. Although, I suppose, for polar opposites, we get along fine."

"So she must be the well-behaved one?" he teased making her giggle a little.

"To the extreme. And she's a total girly girl, always playing with dolls and wearing dresses and pink," Amber elaborated, cringing a little, "I keep telling her that one day she's going to have a kid just like me and she won't be able to deal."

He chuckled.

"So…if you don't mind me asking, how did your parents die?" she looked at him after a few minutes.

"Plane crash," he admitted, "American Airlines flight 191 from Chicago to Los Angeles. They were going on vacation, but the plane crashed before it even left the airport," he explained to her.

"I remember hearing about that," she nodded, "I'm sorry."

He simply nodded.

"What about you, how did your mom die?"

"Suicide," she stated simply, poking at her eggroll, "Well, at least that's what the police said," with a violent jab, she pierced her eggroll with her fork, picking it up and taking a bite.

"Do you think your father killed her?" his eyes got wide.

She said nothing, which, again, was answer enough.

"I'm sorry," he empathized. Even though his parents hadn't been murdered, he still knew the pain that losing a parent caused. "How old were you?"

"Twelve."

He, at least, had been sixteen when his parents died, he couldn't imagine being younger than that, especially not twelve, when she would have been starting middle school, where all the problems for students really begin.

"Come on," he said, when they finished their meals, "Let's go."

She followed, obediently, for a change.

He didn't know, but, at the time, she had been silently praying that her father was already passed out by the time she got home. She knew that if he was awake he would drunkenly slur and ask her where she had been, and then, when she would answer, he'd call her a liar and a whore and beat her until she couldn't move. And that was on a good night. On a bad night, he had…other methods of dealing with his daughter that were somewhat more graphic.

When Lancer pulled up at the school, she sat, not wanting to get out of his car and into her own.

"Amber, are you okay?" he wondered, studying her.

She had never had someone take an actual interest in her life before. Even her friends, who could hardly be classified as friends, barely cared. Why did he? He was just some student-teacher.

"Yeah, thanks," she said finally, getting out of his Chrysler, "See you tomorrow. Goodnight," she called, before walking away.

Lancer shook his head, he wasn't sure he would ever understand that girl.

… … … … … … … … …

The next day, Lancer was more excited than he really should have been for her to teach him to play guitar.

"Hey Rob," she greeted him as she walked into the classroom, towing her bulky, black guitar case.

"I said you could only call me Rob outside of the classroom," he reminded her; although, honestly, he didn't care what she called him, at least it was better than "grandpa."

"So, what first?" she asked, sitting down and bringing her foot up beneath her.

"It doesn't matter to me," he lied, looking at the guitar case, but, considering it might take some time for him to learn to play the guitar, he decided to do the English work first.

"You write your own songs, right?" he asked her.

"Yeah, why?" she answered, unsure what that had to do with English.

"Well, a song is basically poetry, so it shouldn't be too hard for you to analyze this poem," he replied, setting a piece of paper with a poem in front of her.

With a sigh, she looked over the six-stanza poem. Using a black pen, she scribbled in the margins of the poem, pointing out the items that she was supposed to analyze.

"There," she said finally, pushing the poem in his direction for him to check.

With a red pen, he reviewed her work, only making a few changes.

"Good job," he commended her after he had finished reading it.

"Yeah, I'm good at analyzing poetry, it's just everything else I problem with," Amber shrugged.

"Well, your final will consist of a story analysis, multiple choice questions, an essay, and the analysis of a poem. So, as of now, I would say you already have a 25%."

"Whoohoo," she remarked sarcastically, "Now all I need is the other 75%."

After working on some multiple choice questions for a while, she finally asked, "Can we move onto guitar now?"

He nodded, that having been what he wanted to do since she walked into the classroom.

She unlatched the brass hinges of her guitar case and pulled out what must have been an entirely custom guitar. It was a deep purple with blue flames that almost perfectly matched the color of her eyes. And the guitar itself was styled to look like flames.

It was obvious to him that she must have been saving up for quite some time in order to buy that guitar.

"Here," she handed it to him gently, "Be careful. If you break the neck, I will have to break yours."

He wasn't sure she was entirely joking. She probably, probably, wouldn't actually kill him, but she might hurt him pretty badly if he were to cause damage to her guitar.

Gingerly, he took the guitar from her hands and rested it on his lap.

"Let's start with the basics," she said.

She spent almost two hours teaching him cords and scales, before she finally deemed him decent enough to try to start working on a song.

"_Smoke of the water_, of course," she grinned, when he asked what song she would be teaching him, "Seriously, it's so easy. It is only three cords through the entire song. C, D, and A minor."

"Start with C," she informed him, "Then switch to D." It wasn't exactly the smooth cord change that she was used to, because he still had to look at the strings to see where his fingers went, but he did manage to switch to D, "Okay, now to A minor."

With some more rearranging of his fingers, he switched to A.

"That's the major cord," she told him, moving closer so that she could readjust his fingers on the frets and strings, "You need the minor cord."

She fixed his fingers and he strummed the guitar a little, producing the correct sound.

"There, see?" she smiled, but her voice came out almost as a whisper when she suddenly realized how close she was to him. Their faces were less than a foot apart. She could see all the details of his face that she had not noticed before, like the black stubble around his goatee, and the flecks of blue, gold, and brown, in his pale green eyes.

Lancer could not have predicted what had happened next.

Without mentally processing what her body was doing, she closed the distance between them and kissed him. In the next second, her brain seemed to turn back on and she stopped, backing away, a blush creeping up to her face.

"Oh…sorry, I don't know what came over me. Ugh, everything was going so well and now I've messed it up and—"

She was stopped because his lips were once again on her, and this time, he was kissing her back.

Without breaking the kiss, he set her guitar in the case, and leaned her against the desk.

After what seemed like a short period of time (but was probably actually five minutes) later, they broke apart, gasping for air.

"Do you know how many cheerleaders would have died to be able to do that," she breathed.

Now it was Lancer's turn to realize what he had done.

"Oh gosh," he sighed, "I was not supposed to do that. This is wrong. We shouldn't be doing this, right? You're going to get into trouble and I'm going to lose my job and—"

"Woah, Rob, calm down," Amber held up her hands, "Like I already told you, I'm eighteen, so technically, nothing we're doing is illegal. And for another thing, neither of us are going to get into trouble. Nobody's here, nobody saw us."

That did calm him down a little. He sat down, thinking.

Amber came and sat next to him.

"If it makes you feel any better, that was the best kiss I've ever had," she assured him.

"Really?" he questioned, doubting it.

"Yeah," she smiled. He smiled at her too, feeling better.

"Okay. But we can't let anyone find out about this," he insisted.

"Right, as far as they know, we're just doing some tutoring," Amber agreed.

"And even if we…take some breaks," he swallowed uncomfortably, "You still have to pass your final."

She rolled her eyes, "Okay, fine," she agreed.

… … … … … … … … …

So they began secretly dating. They agreed that they could come clean about their relationship after she passed the test and received her diploma, but until then, no one could know.

Lancer continued to worry about her home life every day when she would come back with new scars and bruises, but she assured him that she was fine.

"Trust me, I've had worse," she admitted.

"How long has this been going on?" he questioned her.

"Since I was…eight, I think," she replied.

"How did it start?" he wondered.

Amber shrugged, "He was always kind of a jerk, but when I turned eight he really started drinking, like every day. Then he would come home and beat my mom while I would hide in the closet. He didn't start taking it out on me until she died."

"Does he ever…um…you know," Lancer questioned awkwardly.

"Rape me?" she guessed and he nodded. "Not usually," she sighed.

"But he has done it before?" Lancer's eyebrows pulled together in concern. She pulled uncomfortably at the ends of her sleeves.

"…yeah…" she breathed finally.

"Amber, something needs to be done. Maybe I should talk to him," he suggested. She laughed bitterly.

"No offence Rob, but I am fully aware of how much pain he can cause and, trust me, he would probably beat you to a pulp, and then he would beat me for even knowing you," Amber told him.

"Then…maybe, you could come stay with me…" he bit his lip.

She smiled at him encouragingly.

"We have less than a month, Rob. I promise."

She gave him a quick peck on the lips.

… … … … … … … … … …

"So what have you got for me today?" Amber asked, as she walked into the classroom after school. She now had only four days (not counting the current day) until her test, and then two more weeks before the test would be processed and she could receive her diploma; two more weeks before she could get out of her father's house, take Pamela with her, and move in with Rob. But, school had just started the week prior, so they were reduced to studying after school.

With such a short amount of time until what could have possibly been her last test, she was beginning to lose interest in learning, but Rob was refusing to allow her to do so.

"Practice test," he told her.

"Ugh," she groaned, "Seriously?"

"Yeah, sorry. But come on, don't you want to see how well you're going to do on the actual final?" he asked.

She huffed in response, sitting down. Lancer handed her the test, which, was approximately twenty-five pages thick.

"All of this?" she gawked, picking up the thick stack of stapled papers.

"Well, several of the pages go to the story and poem you have to analyze, and there are a lot of extra blank pages for the essay, so it's not like the entire test is multiple choice," he reminded her, "Okay," he pulled a kitchen timer out of his briefcase, "You have one hour to complete the test. Starting…now," he released the dial over the 60-minute mark and the timer started to go.

Amber wasted no time, opening up the test booklet and frantically writing answers and making notes.

Lancer sat at the teacher's desk, reading a book until the timer went off.

_Ding!_ The timer sounded after an hour.

"Okay, pencil down," he ordered, picking the desk booklet off of her desk, and walking back to his desk to grade it.

Considering this was a practice test, Amber was more nervous than she should have been. She wrung her hands anxiously while he checked over her answers with the permanent ink of a red pen. Every time he would write something, her heart-rate quickened. She was sure that she would fail, just like she had failed her final last year.

"Okay, done," he said finally, handing her test back and sitting across from her.

"An 88%," she blinked in surprise. It wasn't an A, but it was close, and it was still the highest grade she had ever scored on an English test.

"You did well," he smiled at her, "If you get a grade like this, that diploma will be yours. But, I know you can do better," he told her.

"Thanks," she smiled back.

"You know," she said, after a while, "We have a Monday off this weekend for Labor Day...I was wondering if…maybe you and I could spend this weekend together, just the two of us?"

He blushed.

"Okay," he agreed, "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, we could go up to the lake…rent a cabin," she suggested.

"Consider it done," he smiled to her. With a wide grin, she kissed him, locking her arms around his neck.

Little did either of them know, a jealous Kelly Kimble, had been watching. Although she had already graduated, her cheerleading coach had called her back to mentor the incoming freshman who would be trying out for the team. She had just been walking down the hallway when she saw Amber with her arms around the teacher that every other girl had been in love with the previous year.

And she didn't like it.

… … … … … … … … … … …

"Just let me grab my stuff," Amber called to him. Right after their tutoring session had ended, they had driven to his house, where he had rapidly packed a bag, and now they were at her house so she could grab her things before they left to the lake.

"Are you sure your dad isn't home?" he questioned, looking suspiciously at the house.

"No, don't worry, he won't be back for a few hours. Wait here, I'll be right back," she assured him, running up the front steps.

The house was literally falling apart at the seams, and Lancer was amazed that anyone could actually live there. It was just barely a step above a trailer, with garbage and discarded furniture littering the front yard and with several of the broken windows boarded up with plywood. When she opened the front door, he noticed it only hung on one hinge.

He would be so happy once he could get her out of this house.

A few minutes later, she ran back outside, clutching a black backpack.

"Okay," she grinned, closing the passenger door behind her, "Let's get out of here."

"What will your dad do when he finds out you left for the whole weekend?" he wondered.

"Doubt he'll even notice. He tends to buy a lot more booze on holiday weekends. I wouldn't be surprised if he spends the entire weekend passed out," she replied.

He still wasn't completely assured, but he said nothing.

It was a three hour drive to the lake. Most of the time, Amber spent either sleeping or listening to her Walkman while staring out the window at the passing scenery.

When they arrived on the campground, he rented a cabin that was directly on the water.

"Wow," she beamed as they stepped out of the car, "Look at the water." She was right, it was stunning. It shimmered a beautiful blue-green, almost like her eyes, "Let's go for a swim!" she exclaimed.

"Now?" he asked incredulously.

"Why not?" she shrugged out of her t-shirt and shorts, leaving her in a lacy black bra and panties. He blushed, that was more of her than he had seen before. She kicked off her sandals and ran down the hill to the dock. At the end of the pier, she dove into the water.

"Come on, grandpa," she teased from the water, "The water's fine."

He rolled his eyes and walked over to the edge of the dock.

"Amber, we have to unload our stuff," he reminded her.

Now she rolled her eyes and swam closer to him.

"Lighten up," she scolded. In one quick motion, she reached up and grabbed his arm, pulling him into the water, fully clothed.

He sputtered the lake water out of his mouth.

"Oh, you're going to get it now," he threatened her.

"Not if you can't catch me," she challenged with a smirk, swimming away.

… … … … … … … … … … …

"So…um…well I bought a cabin with two rooms if you want to use the other room. Or well, I suppose we could um…" he stuttered.

"Share a room," she finished, wondering when he would stop being so awkward around her. Granted, they hadn't slept together yet, but they had been secretly dating for two whole weeks now.

"Um…yes. Do you want to share a room?" he asked her. It seemed funny to her, very few people had ever taken her opinion into consideration, while, with Rob, all he ever did was think about her.

She thought for a minute.

Did she want to share a room?

She looked at him. His hair was still wet, and it clung to his face. His clothes were still wet too, and they clung to his muscles.

"Yes," she agreed finally.

"You don't have to. I don't you to feel pressured into it," he tried to tell her but she held up her hand for him to stop.

"Rob, it's okay, really. I don't feel pressured. I want to, okay?"

He nodded.

"Good. Now that that is settled, let's get something to eat. I'm starved."

"Are you always hungry?" he wondered. Of course, it made sense considering he figured that she probably didn't get too much food at home.

… … … … … … … … … …

"Are you sure?" he asked her again as they got ready for bed.

"Yes, Rob," she answered, beginning to lose her patience.

"Do you just want to share the bed or…I mean we wouldn't have to sleep together if you don't want to…I just—"

"Don't want me to be pressured, I know," she finished his statement, "Listen to me, okay?" she made him look at her, "I want to be with you. Now stop asking me questions or I will start thinking that you don't want to have sex with me."

He chuckled, cupping her chin, "I love you, Amber," he told her, meaning it. He had not said those words in a very long time, not since his parents had died. It seemed so strange, that their initially-compulsory relationship had progressed to this point; to the point where he could be so comfortable saying that he loved her. They were so different, but somehow, it almost made their relationship stronger. She was so witty and funny; she was always making him laugh, even if she was making fun of him. Sometimes he wondered if it might have been better if they had ended up with someone of a similar personality to them, but he knew it wouldn't have worked as well. If Amber had wound up with someone like her, he would not have given her the affection she needed to overcome the hurt her father and the death of her mother had inflicted on her. And if Lancer had found a woman like him, he still would have been able to love her, but their relationship would not have been nearly as exciting. The truth is, Amber challenged him, and he needed to be challenged.

"I love you, too," she smiled at him. Other than her sister and her late mother, Amber had never said those words to anyone, and she certainly had never said them with this kind of feeling behind them. She did love him. She loved how he was always so kind to her, she loved how he actually cared about her; she even loved his somewhat "traditional" morals and tendencies, no matter how annoying they could be sometimes. He wanted to marry her, he had said it. Granted, he had only said in passing as a "what if" scenario, but a part of her hoped that, maybe one day, it wouldn't just be a "what if."

Amber went into the bathroom to change. Her black panties were still dripping with lake water which left her with the choice of purple, aqua, or white panties to wear tonight. After a short time, she decided on the aqua ones. She released her hair from its usual ponytail, letting it fall down in soft waves to the center of her back. She was so exposed right now, and every imperfection was plainly visible on her skin; everything her father had done to her. She shook her head. Rob didn't care about that, well, he cared, but only because he didn't want to see her hurt. He didn't think any less of her because of her scars.

The only problem now was that she didn't have anything sexy to wear over the panties, because, for some reason, she just didn't feel right walking back to the bedroom in just her bra and underwear. Perhaps it was just a habit to be covered up all the time. Because, she knew from experience, that if her father saw more than twenty-five percent of her skin, he wouldn't hesitate to…see more. She shuddered.

'_Oh well_,' she thought, '_A towel will have to do._' She swiped one of the white towels off of the rack and adjusted it around her chest.

Walking back to the room through the dark hallways, she treaded quietly on the carpeted wood floors.

Just outside of the bedroom door, she paused.

This would be her first time, well, her first time by choice.

Technically, her first time had been when she turned fourteen. The worst birthday present she had ever gotten. She had been so ashamed; she hid in her closet and didn't come out for a week. When she finally decided to go back to school, she couldn't tell her friends what had happened, she just felt so dirty. So, she lied to them and told them that she had had the flu.

No one had ever batted an eye at her lies. And, despite the suspicious scars and bruises on her skin since she was twelve, no one—not her friends, not her teachers, not her counselors, not even the youth leader at a church she had stopped attending so long ago—had ever questioned her or thought that paternal abuse might be the underlying cause.

With a deep breath she walked into the room. Rob was on the bed wearing only a pair of boxers, reading a book of all things. Of course, that didn't really surprise her.

'Typical,' she thought to herself with a roll of her eyes. She cleared her throat and got his attention. Without taking his eyes off of her, he marked his page and set the book down on the nightstand.

She swallowed, and dropped the towel.

**[Nope, sorry, I won't be writing what happens next for all of you sick-minded people (mostly because I actually couldn't really write it if I wanted to).]**

"That was wonderful, Amber," he told her afterwards, tracing his fingers up and down her arm.

She blushed, "Thanks."

They spent the next few days together happily. The happiest, Amber decided, that she had ever been in her entire life.

However, both were blissfully unaware of the storm that would be coming when they got back.

… … … … … … … … … … …

"Excuse me," a woman poked her head into the classroom, "Could I see your assistant-teacher for just a minute," she asked in an overly cheery voice to the main teacher of the classroom, indicating for Lancer to follow her.

Perhaps he had been spending too much time with Amber, but there was something about the woman's cheery tone that made him instantly suspicious.

"Sure," the head teacher of the classroom agreed, thinking nothing of it and immediately going back to her teaching.

Speaking of Amber, she was currently in an empty room somewhere on campus, taking her test. Lancer was nervous for her, he knew how much she had riding on this test, how much they both had riding on this test.

"What's this about?" Lancer asked the woman.

"Oh nothing," she replied, the fake smile never falling from her face, "Principal Welsh just wants a few words with you, that's all."

That made Lancer a little uneasy, but he decided to keep this to himself.

With one last smile, the receptionist showed him to the office, and closed the door behind him.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Lancer asked.

"Yes," the principle said, not moving away from the window where he was partially silhouetted, "Take a seat."

Lancer sat in the open chair in front of the desk.

"Now, it has come to my attention that you have been tutoring Amber McClain, correct?" he asked, pacing with his hands clasped behind his back, still in front of the window.

"Yes sir, she needed remedial English, I needed teaching hours," Lancer answered professionally, although he was already getting a weird feeling about this.

"Yes, I am fully aware of the _mutual benefits_ you both received from this arrangement, however, I would like to know if you and Amber received any _other _benefits from each other," he slammed his hands on the desk, turning to look at Lancer for the first time.

Lancer mentally cursed himself, unsure what to say.

"You see, Robert," he referred to him by his first name, "I heard from a reliable source that you and Amber have been maintaining a sexual relationship on this campus when you were supposed to be tutoring her."

"That information is false," Lancer immediately refuted.

"Oh, so you are_ not _in a relationship and you have _not _been having sex on this campus?" the principal stared him down.

"No sir, we have not," Lancer answered carefully.

"Ah, but you are in a relationship with this girl?" he clarified.

Lancer, a notoriously poor liar, didn't know what to say.

"I will take that as a yes," the principal nodded, "Robert, do you know how inappropriate a relationship like this is?"

"In my defense, sir. She is eighteen, and this would be seen as completely legal had she been allowed to graduate with her class last year. Also, it wasn't until two weeks ago that we even started dating, out of school, I might add. And, in no way, has our relationship hindered her abilities to perform on that test, as you will be able to see when her scores come back," he told him.

"That may all be true," the principal considered, "However, I cannot have a scandal like this released on this campus, nor can I have people believing that your relationship with her allowed you to alter her test scores, and, because of that, I will have to suspend you from this campus for the next two weeks. I also highly encourage you to not have any contact with this girl until after she receives her scores or we will have to get her parents and the police involved. Do I make myself clear?" he demanded.

Through gritted teeth, Lancer answered, "Yes," before walking out of the classroom.

With the students at lunch, it allowed him to collect his things from the classroom without being questioned, taking them to his car.

He wanted nothing more than to talk to Amber and tell her what had just happened, but he couldn't risk the police getting involved, or, even worse, her father getting involved.

From what she had told him, if her father found out that she had another man in her life, he would kill him and probably her. He no longer cared about himself, but if Amber and her sister were in harm's way because of him, he wasn't sure how he would handle it.

So, discretely, on a white piece of paper, he slipped it into the driver's window of her car.

'_Amber,_

_I'm sorry I have to tell you this way, but they found out about us and I am not able to see you again until after your test scores come back. I have been suspended from teaching until then, and they've threatened to get the police and your father involved if I try to contact you again. I am sorry, but, for your own safety, I cannot take that risk. I know you did well on your test, and when the scores come back, I will be right there, ready to embrace you, and we can be together._

_I love you,_

_Rob.'_

With that written, he got in his car and left.

When Amber found the note she nearly burst into tears. What she hadn't told him before they left for their weekend together, was that, she had lied. Her father would have absolutely noticed her absence, but she was afraid that if she had told him that, that he might not have gone with her.

Now, she was terrified to go home. She had been counting on taking Rob up on his offer to stay at his house, but now, with him forbidden to contact her, she had nowhere to go. She wasn't going to risk it either. She didn't care so much for her own safety, but she feared for Rob, and for what her father would do to him if he found out, and she feared for her sister, who would be left alone to deal with their father if her and Rob had been arrested or killed.

That left her with very few options.

She would have had more options if she had had more money. All that she had was thirty five hundred dollars, which she had been saving for a long time considering that, every time she seemed to get money, her father would find it, punish her for hiding it, and then spend it all on alcohol.

To build up the stash she currently had it had taken three years of carefully hiding the money.

Now, it seemed she would have to rent out a motel room, for the next two weeks and spend a lot of it, and that's not even counting the price of food. Now, $3500 might seem like a lot of money, but most of that, she had allotted to the adoption fees involved with legally adopting her sister within the next month.

The adoption fees would take up $3000 of the money she had saved, leaving her five hundred dollars to live on for the next two weeks.

She sighed.

'_I can survive the next two weeks on my own,' _she assured herself.

… … … … … … … … … … …

After school, Amber rented the cheapest hotel room she could find. It was absolutely filthy, but, given what she had to live with at home, the filth didn't bother her so much. It was the kind of place whose cliental pay mostly in cash so that their criminal activity could not be traced. It was these sleazebags, who hung out in dark corners doing illegal substances and winking at her as she passed by, who really bothered her.

Amber was no stranger to illegal substances, in fact, her father probably bought drugs from all of these dealers. She was also no stranger to breaking the law, given how she had spent many lunch periods smoking cigarettes in the girl's room, but she herself had never done drugs.

She didn't drink either. Honestly, she had seen what the combination of the two had done to her dad, and she wanted nothing to do with it. The cigarettes she only smoked every once in a while to keep her from punching all of the preppy bitches at her school in the face. Then again, cigarettes can only do so much.

And, as much as she wanted a cigarette right now to calm her nerves, a pack of cigarettes was not on her very tight budget at the moment.

"Heeyy," one man grinned at her with a smile full of crooked, yellow teeth. She ignored him, continuing to her room.

The room was small, cramped, and dirty, but, it was the cheapest room they had and it would last her for the next two weeks.

The only clothes she had were the ones in her car from the weekend with Rob, so, while her dad was at work the next day, she would have to stop and get more.

It was amazing to her that her dad could even hold a job, given that a conservative, 85% of everything he drinks on the job is alcohol, but, she supposed, his employer—a twenty-four hour truck stop—didn't care. He worked from four o'clock in the morning to two o'clock in the afternoon, and, assuming that tomorrow wasn't his day off, she would have plenty of time to get in and out without being noticed.

The mattress and bedding had more dust than an ancient library, but it was getting late, and the darker the sky got, the less she wanted to brave her way through the hallway of criminals again.

So, with a loud sigh, she changed her clothes, putting on one of Rob's t-shirts that had accidentally gotten put in her bag. The shirt smelled like him, and, with that comforting thought, she got into the bed, trying not to cough on the dust as she struggled to fall asleep, thinking of him.

On the other side of town, he was thinking of her too.

… … … … … … … … … … … …

"One more day," she reassured herself, as she drove over to her father's house. For the past thirteen days, she had been driving herself from the sleazy hotel at ten o'clock in the morning, to her father's house in order to pick up clothes, and the to the park where she would spend most of the day before going back to the hotel.

At times like this she almost _wished _that she could go back to school, it would be nice to have something other than people-watching at the park to occupy her time. But, unfortunately, because she technically wasn't enrolled for this school year, she was not allowed to go. Except, that is, for tomorrow, when she would be going to the school to pick up her test scores and, God-willing, her diploma.

And then she could see Rob.

Good thing too, because she was getting really low on cash. Another day and she would be dipping into her sister's adoption fund.

'_Last time I have to do this,'_ Amber sighed, pulling onto the gravel path of her father's house.

Her father's truck was not in the front where it usually would be and today, she was in a hurry, so she didn't bother to check the back lot. This lapse in inspection would end up being a fatal mistake.

She walked into the house, heading directly up the stairs to her room.

"Okay, grab everything," she told herself, shoving all of her clothes and personal belongings into any bag she could find.

'_Looks like I've got everything,' s_he thought, several bags in one hand and slug over her shoulder, and her guitar case clutched in the other.

She jumped when there was a loud slam behind her.

"Going somewhere," her dad slurred.

"Dad!" she yelped, cringing away from him. She looked around, evaluating her exits. There was the window, of course, it was also a twenty foot drop onto cement. Or she could try her luck and see if she could get past him and go out the door.

Neither of the options seemed to work in her favor. But one thing was for certain: she wasn't going down without a fight.

"Where've ya been, Ammber," he forced down a hiccup.

Amber said nothing, she just backed farther away from him.

"C'mere darlin' daddy's here," he told her, a sickeningly creepy smile on his face. She knew that smile.

'_No. Never again,' _she thought, she noticed that there was a slight gap between her father and the door. If she moved fast enough, he might not be able to catch her. But she would have to time it right.

He took another step towards her, and Amber bolted towards the door, leaving her stuff in her room.

'_Just keep going!' _she thought, her heartbeat pounding in her head. She was at the stairs, '_I might make it!' _she hoped.

But, before she could take a step down, her father, who must have resorted to crawling on his hands and knees in order to catch her, grabbed her ankle.

"Not so fast, darlin'," he exclaimed. Amber pitched forward, doing a face plant on the hardwood steps in front of her with a sickening crack and then tumbling the rest of the way down the steps into a crumpled heap at the bottom, where she landed on her ankle with another crack.

Blood poured down her forehead and blurred into her eyes but she could make out the form of her father pulling himself up by the banister and wobbly starting down the stairs after her.

Amber pulled herself to her feet, screaming in pain as her full weight pushed down on her ankle. But he was still coming down the stairs, she had to get out.

Unfortunately, the front door was on the opposite side of the house. She hobbled, to it, her bloodied vision making it hard to see as she bumped into and stumbled over the filthy, cluttered ground.

Suddenly, something hard hit her over the head. It was one of the wooden rods that her dad must have ripped off of the banister.

She crumpled to the ground and black spots began to dance in her vision.

The last thing she saw before the world around her completely dissolved into black, was her dad standing over her with a taunting, victorious smile on his face.

"You...you're a filthy whore you little tramp…this'll be teaching you," he muttered, unaware that his unconscious daughter could not hear his string of insults. She was still alive, and probably would have been for several more hours had her father not been spreading gasoline around the house, clumsily pouring it on the floors, tables, chairs, Amber, and, inadvertently, on himself.

"Filthy whore…this'll teach ya," he swiped a match. Through his drunkenness, it took him several tries, but finally, he got the match to spark. He threw it onto the gasoline-covered ground which immediately caught fire. He caught fire too, not a second later, and he ran around, trying to put the flames out, only making it worse. When he tripped backwards over a fallen chair, and knocked himself unconscious as the flames licked over his body, he gave himself the same fate as his daughter.

But Amber, still unconscious, was at peace.

"I love you, Amber," she heard Rob's voice so clearly in her head it was almost like he was in the same room with her.

"I won't let him hurt you, sweetie," another voice came into the black of her thoughts. She recognized this voice as her mother's, "I love you. No matter what, I love you." She had said that, the night she was killed.

"Amber, why does daddy hurt you?" this time it was Pamela's voice, or as Amber had liked to call her, Pammie.

"I love you Amber, you're the best sister ever," Pammie's voice went through her thoughts again.

"I know you did well on your test, and when the scores come back, I will be right there, ready to embrace you, and we can be together. I love you, Rob," the familiar words of the letter passed through her thoughts.

And suddenly, Amber was above her body. She could see herself, on the floor, being consumed by the flames, she could see her father, who had knocked himself under the table, also being destroyed by the flames. But the flames seemed to move in slow motion. And now that she floated above them, the caressed her skin lovingly, reminding her of the tenderness with which Rob had touched her.

With one final sigh, her body left the house.

"Amber honey, I'm here, waiting for you," she heard her mother's voice ring again, crystal clear, and she knew what she meant. Her mother was trying to coax her over to the other side. But no bright lights came, she could not get herself to cross over.

'_I'm sorry, mom. I still have things to do here,' _she thought.

Her mom seemed to accept her unspoken thought.

"I will be here when you're ready," her mother's voice said, and faded away.

… … … … … … … … … … …

"In other news, a house fire killed a man and his daughter. The house was completely destroyed but neighbors claim that the two bodies found within the house were of 42 year old Marcus McClain, and 18 year old Amber McClain. No news on the status of these deaths, but it has been confirmed that the fire was started from within the house…"

He had stopped listening, he could not hear it anymore. His ears had started ringing.

Surely he could not have heard that right.

Amber was dead?

No, no, she couldn't be! They had been so close, tomorrow they could have been together and she never would have had to worry about her father again!

She can't be dead!

Even though he thought this, Lancer knew otherwise and hot tears streamed down his face.

He had loved her; he had loved her so much.

He blamed himself.

'_I shouldn't have listened to the school, she should have lived with me!' _he cried.

The rest of that night, he sat in his bed, dried tears on his face only to be replaced with fresh tears every time he remembered her voice or her laugh or her smile, with _Smoke on the Water _playing on an endless loop from her Walkman.

She had left it in his car.

He was going to give it back to her tomorrow.

New tears sprang to his eyes.

The only solace he could find with her death was that her father, her vile, detestable, father, the reason she was broken and scarred, the reason she was dead, had also been killed.

That sick bastard had, no doubt, accidentally killed himself while killing her.

'_Good,' _Lancer thought, fighting another wave of tears, '_He deserved to die. Amber didn't.'_

… … … … … … …

The next day, Lancer went into the school. He had so wanted to drink the night before, he had wanted to get so drunk that he could no longer remember who he was or the pain he was feeling, but he knew Amber wouldn't have liked it.

It was alcohol that had gotten her into that situation, and he would not let it be his demise as well.

But he had bought a pack of cigarettes.

The nicotine didn't block out the pain as much as alcohol would have, but it made him able to stand without bursting into tears.

He stalked into the front office, the smell of smoke hanging on his breath.

"Give me her test scores," he ordered to the principal.

"Robert, I'm not sure that—" he started to protest.

"No. Give me her fucking test scores, now!" Lancer exclaimed, slamming his palm on the desk.

With a simple nod, the principal retrieved her test scores, bringing them back and handing the manila folder over to him.

With a deep breath, Lancer opened the folder, pulling out the paper inside.

She scored a 100%

Tears sprang to his eyes again, and he slumped into the chair, sobbing.

… … … … … … … … … …

There had been a total of fifteen people at her funeral: Lancer, Pamela and her mother, her grandparents, several other teachers and administrators, and a few students who had known her.

Lancer and Pamela were the only ones to speak.

Pamela went first.

"Amber was the best sister that anyone could ever ask for. She was smart and pretty, and fun, and she was always there to protect me. I wish I could have been there to protect her. But now, Amber gets to be in heaven with God and all of his angels, and they can treat her the way she should have always been treated," the girl finished. Throughout her speech, a steady stream of tears had trailed down her cheeks, but she had never faltered, when she climbed off of the stage, she rested her head on her mother's shoulder, and bawled.

Lancer stepped up next.

"What many of you don't know, is that Amber and I had a relationship," there were a few gasps from the crowd, "And I loved her, completely. She was a kind-hearted, talented, smart, beautiful girl, who was so fiercely protective of the ones she loved that she ended up giving the ultimate sacrifice. She was so warm and tender, and loyal and sweet. She made the earth a better place just by being on it…" he choked, wiping away tears. "She loved her sister more than anything, and only wanted a bright future for her, free from abuse and heartache. She wanted to be famous, but only so she could support her sister and move them both out of her father's house. And, even though she never got to see her name in lights…" he choked again, "I can guarantee, that you will remember her name"


	3. Part 3

**Okay, part three to my long one-shot. This is the epilogue where I will be wrapping up some loose ends with the characters and explaining how this all makes sense with the TV show.**

Epilogue

As it turned out, Pamela had her college education paid for by one anonymous donor.

Lancer had opted to keep it anonymous, because he didn't want Pamela to ever think she owed him anything. He had paid for her education as one final gift to Amber because he knew that, above all else, that was what she would have wanted him to do for her.

Lancer also didn't want Pamela to ever come and seek him out, because then he would run the risk of getting close to another woman in that family, and, after the pain of losing Amber, he wasn't sure he could go through with it again.

Pamela did better than Amber had ever expected she would. She was able to marry a rich man, a rich man who actually loved her, and who would be able to provide for her "girly" lifestyle.

Pamela and her husband ended up having one daughter.

Amber had it pegged correctly, Pamela's daughter ended up almost exactly like Amber: a kind-hearted girl who loves the people around her, but who isn't afraid to be different or stand out even though she knows she will be treated as an outcast. She is also just as loyal, sweet, feisty, and witty.

Pamela McClain-Manson's daughter's name is Sam.

Pamela has never forgotten the pain her sister's death caused her, and, as a result, she has tried to squelch all of her daughter's individuality for fear of Sam falling into the same trap and ending up dead. Unfortunately, for her, Sam has the same spirit that Amber did, and she will not let her individuality be silenced.

Because of her sister's death, Pamela also has an overwhelming fear of death, ghosts, and dying, which is the reason why she sees Danny and his family as bad influences on Sam.

She also never realized that the pop idol, who had recently captivated teenagers, was also her sister's ghost, because, like Lancer, she had not been able to link the Amber and Ember McClain into one entity after she had seen her sister buried.

And Sam could not have recognized her as her deceased aunt, because Pamela never told Sam or her husband Jeremy, that she had had a sister who died.

… … … … … … … … … … … …

Amber got what she always wanted, or at least most of everything that she wanted.

Her sister had a good, successful, life, free from pain, abuse and poverty.

Her sister had her college education paid for.

And Amber, well, she finally got her name in lights; she had the whole world screaming her name.

Unfortunately, in the 29 years she had been in the ghost zone, she had missed watching Pamela and Lancer get older, so she did not recognize them when she came back, nor did she recognize her niece.

Of course she would have come back to the human world sooner, if her father's trial hadn't lasted so long. Finally, the observers had found her father's spirit had been found guilty and was condemned to the lowest levels of hell for all eternity.

The only thing, it seemed that Amber didn't get, was Lancer. Although, by falling in love with Lancer before she died, she developed a fondness for goatees on men, carrying that on to her current boyfriend: Skulker. She still thinks about Lancer a lot though, and she often wonders what might have happened if she hadn't been killed that day. In the same way, Lancer often finds himself thinking about her.

… … … … … … … … …. … … … … …

_It was, it was September, _

_wind blows the dead leaves fall._

_To you, I did surrender, _

_two weeks, you didn't call._

_Your life goes on without me, _

_my life, a losing game._

_But you should, you should not doubt me._

_You will remember my name._

_Oh Ember, you will remember._

_Ember, one thing remains._

_Oh Ember, so warm and tender._

_You will remember my name._

_Your heart your heart abandoned,_

_You're wrong, now bear the shame,_

_Like dead trees, in cold December,_

_Nothing but ashes, remain._

_Oh Ember, you will remember._

_Ember, one thing remains._

_Oh Ember, so warm and tender._

_You will remember my name._

… … … … … … …. … … … … … … … …

"So are these lyrics about you?" Susan asked.

"The first two stanzas are and she pulled parts of the chorus from my speech at her funeral. But I think the second part is about her father," he replied.

Susan nodded slowly.

"Do you regret it?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Lancer questioned his wife.

"Do you ever regret marrying me and wish you had married her?" Susan wondered.

"No," he admitted, "I do not regret marrying you. Sometimes I do think about what it might have been like if she hadn't have died. You know, if we might have settled down had a family, or heck, maybe we would have traveled the world on tour. But the fact is, she died, and nothing can ever change that. Just because I loved her once, doesn't mean I can never love someone else. Susan, I love you. You are my wife, and nothing about that is going to change anytime soon. We have a beautiful life together. We love each other. We are financially stable. And we have a beautiful daughter, who is making a difference in the world by serving in the Peace Corps," Lancer told her.

A daughter, Susan suddenly realized, that they had named: Katherine _Amber _Lancer.

… … … … … … … … … … …

**THE END **

**I hope you all enjoyed my very long one-shot. **

**I may or may not end up doing a spin-off to this, although, most of you know me, so you know that I probably will end up doing a spin-off, but it might not happen right away.**

**Thank you all for reading, I love you guys **


End file.
